


baby, you could devastate me

by shield_maiden



Series: Harringrove [6]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Study, Introspection, M/M, because wtf is dialogue????, here have some more pain, prose, we're all masochists here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 00:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12852387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shield_maiden/pseuds/shield_maiden
Summary: Oh fucking shit no. He is in love with Harrington. Billy thinks he might actually throw up at the realisation.Jesus, he’s never loved anything, or anyone, not since his Mom. He promised himself, after she died and his father turned into the ugly monster he is that he never would. Love, he thinks, is like handing someone a knife and turning your back and trusting them not to stab you with it.





	baby, you could devastate me

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Hurricane by Halsey.
> 
> Please note that this is a continuation of the previous two fics in this series/collection so you'll want to read those first I imagine (or not, I'm not your mother, but Steve might be.)
> 
> (I really need to work on my dialogue i know but PROSE man, prose is where its at for me.)

Things get weird after the Camaro incident. They both pull back, frantically throwing up as much distance between each other and whatever they’ve started as they can.

Steve won’t meet his eyes in the hallway, he’s stopped going to basketball practice too. They definitely don’t fuck anymore. And Billy admits to himself finally, after jerking off for the umpteenth time to the memory of Steve’s mouth stretched around his dick, that he misses it (Not Steve, he tells himself, because that would make him a _faggot_. No, what he misses is another body and a willing mouth. He knows deep down that he’s lying to himself.)

It’s nearing a week and a half, and Steve is walking the halls of Hawkins High like a zombie. Billy can see the stark blue-grey circles under his eyes, and he can’t help but notice that the other boy looks thinner too, on top of his already obvious exhaustion. It makes something in him ache and that fills him with rage.

He shouldn’t care at all. Because he’s Billy Hargrove and Billy Hargrove _doesn’t care_. Especially not about beautiful and broken boys like Steve Harrington and how they look like they haven’t slept in weeks and seem to be barely functioning in the waking world. Because caring about beautiful and broken boys is fucking gay, and Billy’s _not_ gay. _I don’t care. And I don’t love him._ he tells himself as he slams his locker shut with more force than necessary. _I_ ** _don’t_** _._

If he shouldn’t care about beautiful and broken boys, then he definitely shouldn’t want to reach out and touch said boy. Shouldn’t want to brush that one piece of hair that is always in his eyes back, shouldn’t want to rub slow circles on the back of his hand with his thumb, shouldn’t want to ghost his fingers across high cheekbones and sinful lips.

And he shouldn’t want all of that while thinking of the broken sobs that had ripped from the boy’s chest the last time he dared to try it.

He lets his rage grow, hopes that it will burn to death whatever writhing mass has taken up residence in his stomach and then asphyxiate his hummingbird heart that beats too fast against the cage of his ribs every time he catches a glimpse of Harrington in the hall.

But it’s fine. It’s all **_fine_**.

They were never going to last anyway, he thinks, not in this fucking back water town in the middle of no-where Indiana. It’s better this way, with the gulf between them stretching like taffy until Billy can barely see the other side anymore and doesn’t even consider making the jump because all that will happen is pain when his heart hits the jagged rocks below and his father hits _him_ for fucking up and being a fucking queer again.

And Billy would rather not be dead.

Even if being what feels like miles apart from Steve is a very unique kind of torture and Billy might feel, abstractly, like he’s dying anyway because his heart _hurts_ all the time even when he tries to cover it up with rage and bravado.

* * *

 

On the weekend he gets drunk at a party and kisses girls because it’s what he’s supposed to do even if their cherry lipgloss turns his stomach and their whiny voices are too shrill in his ears. She's too small, he thinks, as he crowds his current distraction up against the wall of whoever’s living room they’re all in, wishing instead that he was caging broad shoulders and warm muscles and didn’t have to bend at such an awkward angle to make out with the girl who’s name he’s already forgotten. He can feel someone watching them, and he **_knows_** it’s Steve, so he makes a show of sticking his tongue down the girls throat in retaliation.

He’s never kissed Steve, he realises then. At the time it had felt like it was too personal and intimate, and that it would blur the line between them. He wishes he had. The realisation is like a punch to the gut and he pushes himself away from the wall, turning away from the confused girl, ignoring the way her eyes follow him as he stalks into the kitchen, and the way Steve’s eyes follow him too, pausing only long enough to swipe a half empty bottle of tequila from the cluster of bottles on the counter. (He hates tequila, but it gets the job done and right now he’s not picky. He just wants to get black out drunk and fucking forget about Steve fucking Harrington for five fucking minutes.)

Making his way through the crowd he takes a pull from the bottle and holds it close, clutching it to his chest like the hard won spoils of victory. He can still feel Steve watching him as he takes another drink and he flips him off, just because he can. He goes back to the girl, and tries not to feel disappointed later, when he realises Steve had left while they’d been trading kisses and the bottle back and forth in his eagerness to forget.

* * *

He wakes up in the morning with the hangover from hell, somehow having made it home to his own bed, still fully dressed, and he buries his face in the pillow, thankful that there’s no school today and he can try to sleep it off in peace.

But he can’t seem to fall back to sleep.

It’s irritating to say the least, and he tosses and turns and toes off his boots in an attempt to get somewhat comfortable. Finally he settles again, but now his mind is awake. As much as he loathes it he can’t stop his thoughts from eventually traipsing down the well worn path to Harrington.

It’s some fucking gay shit, thinking about another guy is bad enough when you’re jerking off, but to think about him even when you aren’t? And to want to not just fuck him, but hold him, and make sure he’s okay? Jesus, it’s like he’s in _love_ with Harrington or something.

Oh _fucking shit no._

He _is_ in love with Harrington.

Billy thinks he might actually throw up at the realisation.

The truth hurts, and Billy hates it. Hates that it is true, hates that he has fucking _feelings_ for fucking Steve. Hell, he hates Steve, for being so fucking beautiful and broken and being the only thing he can think about.

Jesus, he’s never loved anything, or anyone, not since his Mom. He promised himself, after she died and his father turned into the ugly monster he is that he never would. Love, he thinks, is like handing someone a knife and turning your back and trusting them not to stab you with it. He’s never been very good at trusting, or at loving, or being loved. He’s made a point to destroy things in his life, so that he _can’t_ love them. And to push things away sothat they can’t love _him._ But Steve is already destroyed and Billy fucking loves him anyway.

He scrubs a hand over his face, feeling the prickle of stubble against his palm and groans. It was just sex, none of this was meant to happen. Billy had just liked pushing Steve’s buttons, trying to break something that unbeknownst to him had already been so broken. He decided then and there that he couldn’t tell Steve, _ever_. Absolutely no good would ever come of that. So he would stay away. Maybe get himself a girlfriend, and fucking forget he was in love with Steve Harrington.

Simple, right?

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on tumblr @crimson--petrichor!!! (and throw me some dialogue prompts for the love of god). As per, comments etc make my day and i love you all.


End file.
